


The Moth and the Flame

by Merlinites



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlinites/pseuds/Merlinites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU featuring a relentless Damen who is determined to befriend Laurent at any cost (like maybe losing his heart to the cold, beautiful boy).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Challenge

Laurent stared at the boy from across the room. He was like the flame to which moths were drawn; people surrounded him, five rows thick, at least. Laurent didn’t judge them for this, though (he judged them for their other choices, but not the decision to surround the flame boy).

Resting idly against the wall, one leg propped up behind him, Laurent swirled the drink before him. Water, of course. He didn’t trust the people throwing the party not to try and render everyone there beyond saving, and he didn’t trust himself when he was intoxicated. Taking a sip from the red plastic cup, he peered over again at the flame boy. And choked a little on his water when the boy’s eyes locked right onto his.

Laurent internally berated himself for his reaction. He was a boy, that was all. A boy surrounded by people. _You’re just one of the crowd, Laurent,_ he thought to himself, even as he was entertaining ideas of the flame boy walking over there, pressing him against the wall, and losing himself in his kiss.

As the flame boy detached himself from his fans, his eyes did not leave Laurent’s. Those dark eyes that matched his hair and skin so perfectly. Perhaps there was something in the water, after all, because Laurent was never so usually swayed by beauty. He adored beautiful things, but they rarely came in the form of a human.

Before he knew it, the flame boy was standing in front of him, a few inches taller than he, so that Laurent had to tilt his neck back just _so_ to look into his eyes.

“I’m Damianos,” he said, voice deep and amused. “My friends call me Damen.”

Laurent immediately despised Damianos’s nickname. Why had he explicitly told Laurent of the name when only his ‘friends’ were given permission to use it? Had he meant to highlight the fact that Laurent was certainly no friend, and that he should never call him Damen? What pigheaded kind of boy was he?

“Laurent,” Laurent answered coolly, not bothering with a handshake, or tilt of the head, or anything. He briefly wished for a moment that he too possessed a nickname, just so he could say “my friends call me _this_ ”. To see if Damianos would call him Laurent, or the nickname.

“Laurent,” Damianos repeated, curling the name around his tongue and lips as if it belonged to him, and Laurent felt like it almost did. He’d never heard his name spoken in such a way before, and he wondered how that was possible. How he’d never known what his name could really sound like. He’d never known that it could mean something different coming from the right mouth. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Not particularly,” Laurent responded, although he wondered if this was the truth, now that Damianos was a mere hands width away from him, and he could feel the heat from his body, and the breath from lungs, and the voice from his throat.

Damianos laughed, tilting his head back to let the sound dance on the air around them. Laurent cocked his head to the side, wondering if Damianos had somehow misheard him, misconstrued his words as something worthy of laughter. Damianos intrigued him.

“I like you,” the intriguing boy said, and Laurent couldn’t deny that there was something about the frankness of this statement that made him appreciate Damianos. At least a little bit.

“Alas, I don’t know if I can say the same for you.”

Damianos looked as if he wanted to unleash his roaring laugh on the world again, but he tamed it and kept it inside. “I hope you understand that I have now taken that as a challenge, Laurent.”

“Challenge?”

“I won’t rest until you’re sure you can say the same for me.”

Laurent was unsure of what to say, and brushed a lock of his pale blonde hair behind his ear to bide his time. After much deliberation, he settled on, “It won’t be easy.”

Damianos grinned. “I’m betting on it.”


	2. A Request

‘ _Outside. Ten Minutes. Wear shorts._ ’

Shorts. Laurent was almost certain he didn’t own a pair of shorts, and if he did, they were most likely from his childhood and would no longer fit around one leg, no matter how lean said leg was.

Laurent was slowly coming to regret his decision to allow Damianos access to his phone number.

After being momentarily blindsided by his initial reaction to Damianos the night before, Laurent had tried to leave the party almost immediately after Damianos had shot a grin in his direction. He had barely made it two feet before Damianos fell into step beside him, asking his phone number.

Laurent’s voice remained silent, even though there had been a war waging inside his mind. One side (undoubtedly his reckless side that rarely saw the light of day) was screaming something along the lines of _give it to him, you fool!_ Whereas the logical side of his mind was hissing and spitting at the thought of allowing Damianos into his life in any small degree and dropped a resounding _don’t_.

“I’ll find out one way or another,” Damianos had said, so very sure of his own skill set.

A barely contained smirk crossed Laurent’s lips as they manoeuvred by two young men. Upon second glance Laurent realised the couple were lip-locked and pressed against each other. A fleeting want spread through him before he banished it to the deepest, darkest corners of his mind.

“Surely you have friends,” Damianos was continuing, oblivious to the deviation of Laurent’s attention.

At this, Laurent peered up at Damianos as he held the front door open for Laurent to slip through. He decided not to grace Damianos’s comment with an answer, instead moving silently and quickly away from the boy with surefooted steps.

“You weren’t lying when you said this wasn’t going to be easy, were you?”

Damianos’s voice had become from behind him, which is the only reason why Laurent let a smile slide onto his lips.

“At least I am true to my word,” he said, letting his voice carry.

“It speaks!” Damianos cried, and Laurent heard his feet pounding the pavement right before a warm hand clasped his shoulder. Laurent immediately moved out from under the delicious weight, so that there was distance between them once again. “Give me your number, Laurent. How else am I supposed to contact you?”

“Carrier pigeon?”

A narrowing of eyes was all Damianos had for Laurent in that moment.

To his utter surprise, Laurent held out a hand to the other boy. “Your phone.”

Within seconds, Damianos’s phone was in Laurent’s hand, warm form where it had been resting in the back pocket of his jeans. Laurent banished every thought even slightly related to the back pocket of Damianos’s jeans, and what lay just beneath it as he quickly typed his number into the phone under the name ‘leave me be’. Just as he was about to pass the phone back to its owner Damianos added, “And your address.” With a sigh, Laurent abided (which was out of character, but Laurent had been out of character since he had first seen Damianos earlier in the evening).

When he finally handed it back to Damianos, he was rewarded with another one of his grins.

“Expect a text from me soon, Laurent,” Damianos breathed as he walked by Laurent in the opposite direction.

Laurent hadn’t believed Damianos’s ‘soon’ had meant ‘tomorrow morning at an ungodly hour’. Not that Laurent wasn’t awake at six that morning, having already run a few miles and eaten a small breakfast before he received the other boy’s message.

‘ _Afraid that’s impossible. I do not own one pair of shorts_.’

A small part of Laurent hoped that this was enough to deter Damianos, but even having only known the boy for one night, he knew that this would not be enough to sway him.

‘ _I’ll bring a pair_.’

And before he knew it, there was a knock at his door and Laurent opened it to Damianos, who was dressed in a singlet and shorts. Laurent eyed the garment Damianos held in his left hand before turning the disapproving gaze onto the person holding it.

“Aren’t you going to let me in, at least?”

With a sigh, Laurent let Damianos into his apartment. Damianos didn’t ask why he lived alone, or how he afforded a two bedroom apartment with views of the beach when he was so young (twenty, to be exact, but Laurent was certain Damianos was not privy to his exact age). He didn’t marvel at the expensive furniture, or ask where Laurent’s personal touch was amongst the monochrome and gold. He simply took it in with one brief glance and threw himself down on the black leather couch, tossing one arm over the back of it.

“Change into these, and we’ll get going,” he said, gesturing to the shorts on the couch beside him.

Laurent plucked the clothing, holding it gingerly between two fingers as if it was contaminated. His actions earned a laugh from Damianos, and the blonde boy turned a scowl his way.

“I can’t believe that this is how you act around a pair of _shorts_.”

“Shorts are distasteful.”

“Just _change_ , Laurent.”

Even though the demanding tone of Damianos’s voice made Laurent want to release a small, defiant growl in the back of his throat, he instead turned from the boy and retreated into his room. Behind closed doors, he peeled off his jeans, and stared at the shorts in his hand. Tentatively, he placed his legs into them and pulled them up to his hips. They were too large, which wasn’t surprising. Damianos was muscled in a way that indicated strength and hard work, whereas Laurent possessed the lean frame of an athlete.

Laurent drew the drawstrings tight at the waistband, and looked at his small, pale legs jutting out from underneath the dark blue material. He looked like an idiot. Before he could shuck the shorts off, and inform Damianos that he was just not _made_ to wear shorts, Damianos’s voice sounded behind him.

“Don’t you dare. It was hard enough getting you into them. I’m not going to try and convince you a second time.”

Laurent turned to see Damianos leaning in the doorway to his room. How he had managed to open it without Laurent noticing was nothing short of a miracle. Laurent never let his guard down that low. He blamed the shorts entirely.

“I won’t bother to ask you how long you’ve been invading my privacy,” Laurent said with a cool glare shot in Damianos’s direction, which earned him a sly smile that suggested Damianos had been standing there the entire time. “But I will _not_ be seen in … _these_.” He gestured with undisguised disdain to the cloth encasing his legs.

Damianos stepped away from the doorway, officially entering Laurent’s room. His eyes didn’t sweep the space, didn’t take notice of anything around him as he stalked closer to Laurent, like a cat eyeing its prey. When he was close enough to Laurent that he could see the rise and fall of Damianos’s chest, he stopped.

“They are staying on.”

There was that authoritarian tone again, the one that made Laurent’s hackles rise. The one that made him ache for a fight, just to see who would win. Muscled lion, or lean jaguar. Damianos, or Laurent.

“Try to stop me from taking them off,” Laurent countered, just to see what the other boy would do.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Damianos replied, grin wolfish.

Laurent, for possibly the first time in his life, remained silent at this challenge from Damianos. With one last cold look at Damianos, he raised his head and walked right by him. “Lock the door on your way out.”


	3. A Journey

“What,” Laurent began, with an elegant curl of his lip, “is that?”

Damianos laughed before answering, “ _That_ is called a boat.”

Laurent glanced sideways at the other boy, hoping that his disbelief was clear on his face. “ _That_ is not a boat. _That_ is a floating piece of metal.”

“It’s called a dinghy, and it is one hundred percent a boat. And you are going to step into that boat. And I am going to direct that boat out on the water.”

Seeing the tiny motor attached to the _dinghy_ didn’t comfort Laurent in any way. He wasn’t entirely sure the thing wouldn’t capsize the moment one of them stepped into it. He was about to take a step backwards, towards the glorious safety of the land behind him when Damianos wrapped a hand around his arm.

“No way. Come on. Step into the boat.”

Laurent wrenched his arm free and glared at him (as was quickly becoming his standard response to Damianos) before gingerly stepping down into the dinghy. It wobbled, and Laurent froze.

“It’s going to move, Laurent. It’s on _water_.”

“I am perfectly aware it’s on water,” was Laurent’s scathing reply. Shortly after, he sat down on the ‘seat’ in the middle of the thing.

Damianos stepped down into the boat, barely rocking it, Laurent noted with a hint of jealousy, and took his seat by the motor.

“It’s going to be loud until we get there, so you won’t have access to my scintillating conversation for a while,” Damianos said, smirking.

Laurent clenched his jaw to keep his retort inside his mouth. What was it about Damianos? Laurent could hardly keep a leash on his sharp tongue around him.

Within moments, the motor was running, and Damianos was right: it was _loud_. Laurent settled uncomfortably on the metal bench, and wondered where, exactly, it was that Damianos was taking him that couldn’t be driven to.

To Laurent’s complete surprise, he found himself enjoying the fast wind against his face and in his hair. He would never admit it to Damianos, but this was one of the few times he had ever actually been out on the water. He’d never been a big fan of the ocean, preferring to stay on land where nothing moved beneath his feet unless in a natural disaster. But maybe he’d been denying himself something wonderful all these years, because he’d never felt quite like this before.

The boat crashed into a wave, and water sprayed Laurent, practically soaking him. He started to laugh, but was cut short when he looked over at Damianos. A smug grin covered the other boy’s face.

“I told you that you’d need to wear shorts!” he yelled over the roar of the motor, and the crashing of the waves.

Laurent huffed silently, refusing to admit that yes, he probably had needed to wear these disgusting shorts because he didn’t want Damianos to look any more self righteous than he already did.

After a while, the boat slowed, and came to a stop just before a small island dotted with trees.

“This is our stop,” Damianos said in the sudden silence.

Laurent looked at the water around them, and before Damianos could say something about the shorts again, he stepped out of the boat, and into the water. The slightly shocked look on Damianos’s face was enough to almost overpower the awkward feeling of wet underwear. Almost.

“If that’s how we’re doing this …” Damianos trailed off, before jumping into the water. He submerged himself fully, coming up face glistening and hair slicked back. A grin spread across his face and then before Laurent could move out of the way, Damianos had pushed a small wave of water in his direction, completely drenching what little dry clothing Laurent still had.

“You will come to regret that,” Laurent breathed. “One day, when you least expect it, I will take my revenge.”

“I look forward to it,” Daianos answered, looking far too eager.

Laurent cast one last, lingering glance back at Damianos (whose shirt had completely outlined every muscle the boy possessed) before wading through the water to shore.

When they were both standing in the soft sand, letting the sun dry out their clothes, Laurent finally asked what exactly it was they were supposed to be doing in this place devoid of any kind of human activity.

“Whale watching,” Damianos responded simply.

Laurent had never, in fact, seen a whale in the flesh before, and wondered if there was some way Damianos had known this fact, and decided to take him here because of it. He dismissed the notion almost as soon as it came to him. Damianos could not possibly have known that.

Even so, a small feeling of appreciation lingered in Laurent because whether or not Damianos had known about Laurent’s lack of whale watching history, it was still an idea he approved of.

“Let’s go find some shade before that lily white skin of yours burns right off.”

And the feeling disappeared.


	4. A Name

Laurent was sun drunk. And sun burnt.

“I should have told you to bring some sunscreen,” Damianos lamented, though Laurent could see right through it and to the laughter bubbling beneath the other boy’s surface.

“Probably,” was all Laurent could manage, looking at the island as it disappeared behind them.

Laurent was dreading the moment that Damianos left his company, because he would be required to say something about today. And he didn’t want to give Damianos anything to be smug about – which he would undoubtedly would if Laurent told him just how incredible he’d thought the afternoon.

When the first whale had breached, Laurent had sucked in a small breath at the sight. Of course he’d seen photos and videos, but there was nothing that could compare to seeing the creature in the flesh, just metres away from you. Some bizarre part of him had almost grabbed Damianos’s hand, to have something to hold onto. Something to tell him that the moment was real, and not some figment of his imagination. That something so beautiful did exist in the world, no matter how ugly it seemed at times. But Laurent had refrained, ignoring the small pang of disappointment that seemed to come out of nowhere (and which was promptly squashed down).

Before long, Damianos was tethering the dinghy to the dock, and scrambling out. He held out a hand, which Laurent promptly ignored. Instead, he deftly jumped from the metal thing to the jetty without any problem at all.

“If you would like to …” Laurent trailed off, not entirely sure what he was about to say, and more than slightly mortified that it sounded like an invitation to prolong the day, and keep Damianos in his company.

Damianos raised one eyebrow, obviously content to let Laurent struggle through the moment. “Would I like to what?”

Laurent scowled before answering, “Stayfordinnerbecauseyoucanifyouwant.”

A short silence followed, and then Damianos burst into laughter. Before Laurent could retract that invitation, or inform Damianos that he was entirely incorrect about what he’d thought he’d heard Laurent say, he was accepting the offer with a grin. “I’d love to. Lead the way!”

Laurent silently and internally berated himself as the two of them walked back to his apartment. What on earth had he been thinking? Inviting _Damianos_ , boy of flame, of sarcasm, the bane of his existence, to eat dinner with him? It was the sun, he reasoned with himself. It had made him lose his mind.

Without saying another word, Laurent opened his door and stepped inside, making his way to the bathroom without another glance at Damianos. “I’m showering. Make yourself comfortable.”

“What if making myself comfortable meant joining you?”

Laurent refused to answer, and instead simply walked away. He had never before met anyone so utterly infuriating as Damianos. After stripping himself of the shorts (which he admitted he had needed but still abhorred), and throwing them into the laundry hamper, Laurent gingerly lifted his shirt over his head, careful of his burning skin. When his vision was again clear, he peered at himself in the mirror. His ‘lily white skin’, as Damianos had so kindly put it, was burned in several places, most notable his nose and shoulders. Laurent’s wide-necked shirt had done little to protect the skin there.

He turned the shower on, the water little more than tepid to avoid any pain to his skin, and stepped under. A sigh escaped him as he realised exactly how hot his burned skin was, and how soothing rushing water could be.

Steam covered the glass walls of the shower, despite the low heat of the water, and Laurent found himself quickly sketching a misty whale breaching above waves. Damianos had given him something to cherish for a long time. Something to look back on when everything seemed bleak.

A knock on the door broke his reverie.

“Hurry _up_ , Laurent. I’m starved. And grab some moisturiser when you come out.”

Laurent sighed. It seemed Damianos was intent on ruining every good thought Laurent ever had about the boy. Laurent quickly shut off the water, dried himself, and shucked on tight blue jeans and an equally tight white shirt (this was most definitely not for Damianos).

The other boy whistled when he walked into the lounge room, and Laurent admitted himself a small roll of his eyes.

“Italian takeaway? Unless you’re some kind of culinary artist, which really wouldn’t surprise me.”

“My culinary skills start and end at toasted cheese sandwiches,” Laurent responded.

“You know what? That sounds pretty delicious, actually. But before we get to dinner: moisturiser.” Damianos held out a hand and Laurent threw the bottle of three hundred dollar moisturiser into it. Of course he caught it. “Com’ere,” he said with wave of his hand.

Laurent approached warily, standing before the other boy.

“Sit.”

A narrowing of eyes before Laurent decided that trying to protest was not worth his time. He gracefully folded himself to the ground, knees bent to his chest. Just as he wondered what on earth he was doing sitting on the floor, he felt Damianos push his shirt to the side. He stiffened, ready to run.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice tight. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. Damianos couldn’t just _touch_ him like that (even if a small part of Laurent relished it).

“I’m moisturising your burns, Laurent.”

And before Laurent could voice any protestations, he felt the liquid on his back, Damianos’s hands smoothing it into his burns. Whatever pain had existed because of the pink skin disappeared almost immediately. But Laurent couldn’t relax. Not when someone – Damianos – was touching him. When someone’s fingers were caressing his skin.

When Damianos’s hands left his shoulders, Laurent couldn’t decide if he was thankful or remorseful.

But then Damianos was gathering Laurent’s hair in his hands, and brushing it to the side to he could reach Laurent’s other shoulder.

“Damianos,” Laurent choked, the name coming out of him as if against his own will.

“Damen,” the other boy replied.

“What?” Laurent could barely form a thought at that moment, for Damianos’s fingers were brushing the nape of his neck and Laurent felt as if every cell in his body was on high alert.

“Call me Damen.”

Laurent didn’t say anything for a moment, remembering how Damianos had introduced himself. _My friends call me Damen_.

“Are we friends now, Damianos?” Laurent asked, somehow preventing his body from shivering as Damianos’s fingers continued to soothe his skin.

“Now, that’s up to you, remember? You challenged me. I accepted.”

That’s right. Damianos was brash, and annoying, self entitled, and smug. Laurent wasn’t interested in being his friend (at least that’s what he tried to tell himself).

“But I want you to call me Damen, anyway.”

A heartbeat of silence.

“Okay,” Laurent replied. “Okay, Damen.”


	5. A Joke

After Laurent had scrambled away from Damianos’s – Damen’s, for he was Damen to Laurent now – soothing hands and searing heat, Damen had thrown a glance towards the bathroom.

“Do I get a shower?”

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “If you must. Towels are in the cupboard just outside the bathroom door.”

Damen (Damen, Damen, Damen) grinned far too suggestively for Laurent’s liking before striding towards the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the cupboard as if he’d done it a hundred times. The fact unsettled Laurent as he walked towards the kitchen. He hardly felt so comfortable in his own home, let alone another’s.

He tried not to let thoughts of Damen in his shower completely consume him as he placed bread, butter, and cheese on the bench. He tried not to imagine anything involving Damen and towels enter his mind as he buttered the bread. He cleared his mind of all thoughts, and instead focussed on cutting the cheese into slices of perfect thickness.

Just as he was placing the sandwiches into the sandwich press, he heard footsteps behind him. Closing the lid, he turned around. And was faced with a half naked Damen, towel around his waist.

“Where are your clothes?” he asked, deadpan (or trying to be deadpan, at least).

Damen’s teeth glinted under the fluorescent kitchen lights. “They got a little damp in the bathroom.”

“I am not eating with you like this.”

“You could lend me some clothes, you know. Like a good host.”

Laurent thought that lending clothes was not exactly something that fell within the expectations of a good host. He also thought that there was little to no hope that his clothes would fit Damen’s body. The difference between them was quite defined.

Sighing, Laurent walked towards his room, intending to find his biggest clothes to lend to Damen. He couldn’t let him wander around in a _towel_. Laurent slid open his cupboards, rifling through the meticulously organised clothes – by colour and level of casualness. When he reached the drawers that held his pyjamas, he withdrew his largest and most comfortable shirt. His favourite shirt (he ignored the fact that this shirt would be on Damen’s body in a minute).

He turned, holding the shirt tightly between his hands. Damen was there.

“Do you have any personal boundaries?” he asked the other boy, wanting to take a step backwards, but not willing to.

“Is that for me?” Damen responded, completely ignoring Laurent’s question.

Laurent threw the shirt at Damen’s chest, which Damen caught deftly, of course. “If this doesn’t fit then nothing will. And there are no pants that will fit you, so you will have to suffer the dampness of your own clothing.”

Damen didn’t respond, instead pulling Laurent’s shirt over his head. It fit him … well. And then Damen was untying the towel around his waist. Laurent stumbled back, wanting to run as far away from Damen as he possibly could. What was he _doing_?

“I need to leave,” he said, trying not to look at Damen, sure that he would see what he certainly did _not_ want to see (or what he told himself he did not want to see).

“Laurent, it’s okay.”

Laurent’s hands shook ever so slightly – not that anyone but he would be able to tell, for Laurent kept any reaction that he did not want known from everyone but himself with incredible talent – as he stared at his bed. He studied the black duvet, saw the turned down top of the white sheet. The gold embroidery on the pillows.

“It was a joke, Laurent. I’m sorry.”

A joke? Laurent readied himself before turning his gaze back towards Damen. Who was standing in his shirt (his favourite shirt) and … shorts.

He breathed in and out a few times, trying to steady his still shaking hands, and his readily beating heart. And then he turned from Damen, walking swiftly to the kitchen, where he could smell the melted cheese. His empty stomach begged for the food.

He heard Damen settle into one of the stools at the kitchen bench as he removed the sandwiches from the press. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards him, placing the plate of food in front of the other boy.

“I hope you’re not considering a career in comedy, Damen, because I can attest to your lack of talent.”

Damen’s face, which had moments before been creased in worry, relaxed. “Good thing you’ve told me that, because I was just considering a stand-up act at my brother’s club.”

One of Laurent’s fine eyebrows rose. “Your brother owns a club?”

“We own it together, but he likes to control things. My name’s just on the deed.”

Laurent wondered if Damen’s brother was as obnoxious as he was. “Lucky for you, then. That you had me to tell you how terribly _un_ funny you are.”

“Lucky for me,” Damen replied, smile far too coy for Laurent’s liking.

“Eat your food. It’ll go cold otherwise.”

Damen saluted him before biting into the sandwich with a groan. “This is the best cheese toastie I’ve ever had,” he moaned, taking another bite as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Laurent tried not to let the compliment get to him. But it did, anyway.

The two ate in comfortable silence, and even though Damen had pushed Laurent’s boundaries roughly a hundred times that day, he was reluctant for him to go. For the day to finish.

Once every crumb of toasted cheese sandwich had been eaten, Damen wiped his hands on his shorts before standing. Laurent stood immediately, not wanting to be seated when someone else was standing. He didn’t like the way it made him feel powerless.

Damen cleared his throat before saying, “I better get going. I said I’d help Kastor with the club tonight.”

Laurent said nothing as the two of them walked towards the door. He would never admit that he wanted Damen to stay.

“Can we do this again?” Damen asked, opening the door behind him.

“Whale watching?”

Damen shook his head. “No. Me. You. Us. Just … hanging out.”

Laurent surprised himself by answering before thinking of the implications that his answer would have. “Yes.”

“Good,” Damen said with a smile. “I’ll see you later, Laurent.”

Laurent watched as Damen took the stairs two at a time, and then closed the door once he was in his car. He leaned against it, chest heaving slightly. What had he just agreed to? What had he just gotten himself into?

He pushed himself off the door, and as he walked by the kitchen, he saw the plates they’d used. He couldn’t leave the dirty plates sitting out, even though all he wanted was to crawl into bed. It just wasn’t in his nature. After quickly rinsing them and placing them in the dishwasher, he turned off the lights and made his way to the bathroom.

Damen’s shirt was in a rumpled heap on the bench, next to the sink. Laurent eyed it warily while he brushed his teeth, wondering if Damen had left with his shirt on purpose, leaving this one for Laurent. Meaning that unless Damen brought it up, Laurent would have to tell him, and invite him over to give it back.

Without letting himself really think through what he was doing (but he knew what he was doing, he knew), he unbuttoned his own shirt, and then pulled on Damen’s. It smelled of the other boy. Of citrus, and sun, and sand. It made sense, he told himself, to wear the shirt to bed. Damen had taken his favourite pyjama shirt, anyway.

Damen’s scent enveloped him as he fell asleep.


End file.
